Feel the breeze on my face
|
the icy breath of the Goddess.
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I raise my hand and touch the illusion.
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My mind is powerful and my Ego is high
|
as the mountain in front of me.
|
Clouds run fast and silence comes
|
from the Fronds of the Ancient Walnut:
|
no scents, no odors, no sounds, no laments;
|
the cold vanishes...
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I get all the colors all around me
|
and I see the enchanting dance of the branches:
|
it is the Walnut calling the witches,
|
it is our dream voyaging through the aethyr.
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What was not becomes reality.
|
I am the deer running to the Sabbath!
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I am the crow which observes the silence!
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I am the craftsman of myself...
|
therefore I praise the Horned and the Great Mother!
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And where the wind blows, at the mercy of the oneiric,
|
it is the touch of the worldĄŻs spirits
|
which enhances my magic.
|
MindĄŻs spreading, faint voices chant at the moon,
|
the silvering light of Levanah penetrates the unconscious
|
and revives the Ancient Knowledge.
|
I take flight, the dance is over.
|
Now we are the deer returning from the Sabbath!
|
Now we are the crow which contemplated the silence!
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Now we are the craftsmen of ourselves...
|
therefore we praise the Horned and the Great Mother!
|
|
-----------------
|
Fronds Of The Ancient Walnut
|
| Opera Ix |
